Born and deceased in the greyness of the Lorraine region, Visions of Cody meant to be a blast furnace, spitting molten iron on clangy conveyor belts. Ten years later, “the Springhill Mine Disaster” suffers from the imperfections of dirty steel, produced at small costs by somewhat naïve young procrastinators, founded into a half smooth, half rough ingot; harmonies for hammer-drills.
Outside the factory: "Stahlwerk-Lothringen," recorded on elbow grease might give a better idea of the ill intentions that drove us: Visions of Cody was a wearying metallurgic rock, a hammer-drill on springs handled by steel orphans, wandering slowly on a crooked edge between noise and fog. Even cold the melt is still bubbling, pig iron worthless for production. This rough material is only good for breaking ears. And that's what it's meant to do.